Ghost Recon: Wasteland
by TheTomFox
Summary: When a mysterious virus infects thousands of people across America, there are few survivors to bear witness to the horrific place America becomes. Ghost Recon teams find themselves with no-one to report to and no mission supports. They have to rely on all their training and experience to survive. Follow the tale of one such team call-signed 'Tracker' in their battle to survive.
1. Chapter 1

Angus, a small town in Texas with a population of approximately 400 people, was in turmoil. Three months ago, an outbreak occurred in New York and spread like wildfire until all of the United States was plagued by the sudden outbreak of this disease. The disease caused the brain's neurons to begin firing again, causing the dead to rise again. The infection could also be spread by a simple passage of bodily fluids such as blood or saliva from a simple bite. Now, handfuls of survivors fight daily to survive in this post-apocalyptic world. Secret organisations began to surface as they too struggled to reach the next day as roaming hordes of the dead assaulted their facilities, drawn to them by the loud sounds within. One such organisation was the Ghosts.

* * *

The four-man Ghost Recon team, call-signed Tracker, had been in the field carrying out counter-terrorism assignments in Texas when the outbreak hit. Since their long-range radio had stopped operating, they had gone dark and were hiding in Angus, Texas until they could return safely to base. But as time passed, they began to think that perhaps the base had fallen, and that to return would be too great a risk, so they decided not to return until they had solid evidence that the base was still active. For now, they survived in the remote town of Angus, living off supplies they could scavenge.

* * *

"Hold position, Ghost Lead. You've got a feral right outside that door."

"Copy that Vixen. Drop him."

"Copy that."

* * *

Vixen braced his sniper rifle against his shoulder and carefully stared down the sights and made final adjustments to counter any factors that would affect the shot. Humidity, wind strength and distance could all make the shot miss its mark, which would be very dangerous for them. It was noon on a bright, sunny day. The wind blew in occasional strong gusts. The beast was outside of the side exit of a large warehouse built mostly of corrugated steel sheets that Tracker was scavenging inside. The feral shifted quickly, constantly moving as it sniffed the air and listened closely to sounds with its acute hearing. The Feral was essentially a cross between an infected human and an infected wolf or canine of some kind. They were one of the most dangerous variants of the infected that could be found. Vixen had made his adjustments a breathed in. Then out. Then in. Then BANG!

Vixen felt the gun recoil, pushing its way into his shoulder as the round was forced out the chamber and down of the barrel. The suppressor reduced the sound of the gun firing, but it was by no means silent. The round flew through the air, curving slightly as the wind picked up. Then the skull of the feral exploded in a mass of gore as the round penetrated and destroyed the brain of the beast, causing its body to go limp and collapse to the ground. As soon as its corpse slumped to the ground, the side door burst open and three armed men dashed outside, weapons ready and prepared for any unseen assailants that may have been lurking out of sight. Checking their corners and finding none, the made a quick dash to a red pickup truck parked nearby. The man leading the way was Ghost Lead, the leader of their team. He alone wore his standard combat fatigues and combat netting, along with his trusty ballistic helmet. His primary weapon was a Vector SMG with attached silencer and red-dot sight, sprayed matte black. In a holster at his hip was a desert brown Beretta M9 pistol. Behind him was Spitfire. He was the team's engineer and heavy weapons expert. He wore a dark blue t-shirt and khaki jeans with a black cap and his primary weapon was an MP5K, his treasured M249 SAW being stored safely in the back of the truck. Because it is a big a loud weapon and one that would burn through their already dwindling ammunition supplies, they had all agreed to only use it as a last resort. Strapped to his back was an M1014 shotgun. Bringing up the rear of the group was Bandit. He wore ripped jeans with a grey t-shirt with a black hoodie and a black scarf wrapped around the bottom of his head, concealing the bottom of his face. He carried a Russian P-90 SMG with standard iron-sights and a laser sight to assist aiming. In a holster at his hip was a Glock 19. When they reached the pickup, they each threw their duffle bags of supplies into the back and Bandit got in the driver's seat while Ghost Lead jumped into the passenger seat and Spitfire vaulted into the back with the supplies. Almost immediately, the truck leapt to life and pulled off, driving away from the warehouse. The sound of the truck was always a risk of drawing more infected, but it was definitely safer to travel long distances in than on foot.

"Alright Vixen, we're moving out. We'll meet you at the rendezvous point." Ghost Lead radioed to Vixen.

"Copy that. See you there, sir." Vixen chimed back as he rose from his prone firing position. As the truck drove away and around the warehouse, out of sight, Vixen jumped down to the maintenance walkway around the water tower he had been providing over-watch from, then he slid down the ladder back to ground level. Vixen wore military fatigue bottoms and a red and black checked t-shirt with the arms torn off. He carried a heavy duty backpack over one shoulder with food and water, medicinal and ammunition supplies should he be caught and isolated from the rest of the team. He carried his beloved M40 rifle with him wherever he went and holstered at his hip was a Kimber Custom M1911 handgun. Like the others, he had a Ka-Bar combat knife strapped to his left leg. When he reached the base of the tower, he set off at a jog to a gas station approximately half a mile away.

* * *

Vixen arrived and the others were already waiting for him. Without a word, he clambered into the back and sat next to Spitfire as the truck set off again and they drove back to the safehouse that was serving as their base of operations. As they pulled away, he shared a quick bro-fist with Spitfire in minute celebration of their successful scavenging run. They encountered few infected on the way back as they were travelling faster than most of them could sprint, with the exception of one feral who gave chase and Vixen had to waste a precious bullet from his handgun on taking it out before it could catch up with the back of the pickup. Again, the bullet hit the beast in the direct centre of the forehead.

* * *

It was mid-afternoon when the Ghost Recon team arrived back at the safehouse. They pulled up at a parking space outside of a large yellow house with a large tower and small courtyard in the centre. They grabbed their bags of supplies and their weapons and equipment and made their way inside, carefully locking the gate behind them. As the strolled into the house, they placed their bags onto a table in the first room, a large space with almost no furniture. They spent about two minutes taking the supplies they had recovered out of the bags and organising them into cupboards and other storage containers in the adjoining kitchen.

"Here." Said Bandit, casually tossing something from his duffle bag to Vixen. "I got you this."

Vixen caught the item and saw that it was an engine part for a dirt bike.

"Thanks." Smiled Vixen, before walking out of the rooms into a corridor, before turning off into a walk-in garage. Inside was a collection of tools and machine parts, but in the centre of was an old dirt bike, long past its racing days. It was one of the things Vixen cherished most. He smiled as he set to work adding the new part to the bike.

As the other three organised the last remaining items, a young, attractive brunette walked into the room, smiling brightly as she watched them work.

"You're back. Did you bring me any goodies?" she asked.

"We sure did." Answered Spitfire. "25 cans of food, 8 litres of water, 13 courses of antibiotics, a bag of seeds for our vegetable garden and some construction materials."

"Awesome!" she beamed, elated. "That's a good run. It'll definitely get us by for a while. But I really want to get started on upgrading the house. I mean, we have a kitchen, bathroom and sleeping quarters, and the tower makes an excellent sniper tower, but I feel we need to expand our facilities and better our defences. Boarded windows might hold against a few infected but it won't do against a horde or outlaws."

"You really think there's anyone left alive out there?" Bandit asked, pulling the scarf down from his face.

"It's possible. I'd rather not take the risk." She answered back.

"Alright, Nancy." Said Ghost Lead, his voice soft. "We'll get straight to it. Any luck getting the radio working?"

"As usual, no luck yet. I nearly had the CCTV working around the house, but I think we have a faulty connection to the power lines."

"Ok. I'll get Bandit or Vixen on that. See if you can get that running either tonight or sometime tomorrow."

"Gotcha ya, chief!" she saluted.

* * *

They spent the rest of the afternoon tending to the garden and adding coils of barbed wire to wall surrounding the house. Bandit went outside solo on a high-risk mission to try to restore a stable connection to the main power line, which he carried out successfully with no incident. Vixen was only a few parts away from getting the bike working and the garden was coming along well, the rich soil giving way to a healthy stock of edible plants. As night fell, Vixen took first watch in the sniper tower as Nancy, the team's handler back from when they were active, worked tirelessly to get the surveillance system operational once more. Despite stable power being restored to the house, they still used candles instead of lights, all too aware how fast light could attract infected and other menaces that could wreak havoc in their lives.

* * *

When they awoke the following morning, around 5am, they found that Nancy had worked through the night and had succeeded in restoring the house's surveillance system. They found her asleep at a monitor, the security feeds playing real-time on the monitor. They placed a blanket over her shoulders to keep her warm and quietly made their way back out of the room, keen not to disturb her. Because of the way the night hours fell, the one who took the first watch shift of the night also took the last one, and as they approached, Vixen slid down the tower's ladder to greet them.

"Any trouble before dawn?" Ghost Lead asked.

"Nah. Just one Juggernaut got a little too close for comfort." He replied. When Ghost Lead asked him what happened, Vixen just pointed to the wall. The other three Ghosts peered over and saw the hulking mass of a Juggernaut stumbling blindly around several meters away. In the place of its eyes were two rounds from Vixen's M40.

"Shit dude…" Spitfire replied. "That's a brutal way to treat him."

"I can admire it." Said Bandit, smiling broadly.

"Yeah, but you're a fucking sadistic SOB." Spitfire retorted.

Bandit just shifted his smile menacingly over to Spitfire, making him very uncomfortable. Everyone knew Bandit was a bit of a sadist, and no one with half a brain cell wanted to get on his bad side. Even his own team members feared him sometimes. Vixen walked between the group and began unlocking the gate before Ghost Lead called over to him.

"Vixen! Where are you going?"

Vixen paused and answered back, calmly, "Just headed across the street. I noticed that the wind lately has been causing havoc with our vegetables. I was gonna pick up some clothes from the supermarket across the way, make a wind cover of some kind to give them a bit of protection."

"Alright, just be quick and don't take risks. Get back here ASAP."

"Roger that, sir." Vixen replied, before unlocking the gate and making his way across the road to a large supermarket opposite the house.

* * *

He spent several minutes stealthily making his way down the aisles. He only planned for this to be a quick trip and so he had only brought his knife and handgun as protection should he be attacked. He and his team had raided and cleared this supermarket shortly after the outbreak of the infection, so he was fairly confident there would be no resistance, but he wasn't going to die of carelessness and infected weren't the only things that could pose a threat. Bandits and other scavengers often made their way into towns in search of supplies. Even those who had never used a weapon before were willing to for precious resources. The outbreak made normal people into monsters in more ways than one. He made his way across the supermarket to the far side, the clothing section. He quickly stuffed several garments into his backpack until, when he was satisfied he had enough, he zipped it up and made his way back. Content that he had made sure it was clear on his way through, he made his way back to the entrance quite calmly, having a peaceful stroll between the aisles. Then he heard a sound that made him go rigid and stopped mid-stride. A chilling sound that sent a cold shiver shooting down his spine. He daren't take another step. To disturb it now would mean almost certain death. When on foot, they tried to avoid these even when fully equipped, and he had nothing more than a pistol with one clip of ammo and a small combat knife. Slowly, he turned his head to face it.

There, in the middle of the aisle, was a Feral. The tall, humanoid beast stood 8 foot tall and held a can of food in its hands. It bit into the top, trying to bite it's way to the meaty contents inside. The can began to crinkle under the pressure of the beast's jaws. For now, the beast seemed preoccupied with the can and paid no mind to Vixen. Slowly, Vixen lowered his hand to his holster, and reached for his gun. Slowly pulling it free, he clicked the safety to 'off.' Then, the Feral stopped chewing on the can and sniffed the air. Then it started to face Vixen. It snarled at him and drool ran from its lips to form a small puddle of saliva on the floor. A guttural roar blew free of its mouth and Vixen let his shoulders sag in defeat.

"Well, shit."

He dashed as fast as he could for the entrance, ignoring the beast in hot pursuit of him. He was a well-trained soldier and veteran of many special operations, but his reflexes couldn't compare to the Feral's and he couldn't hope to even match its speed. Desperate to escape, he quickly turned into an aisle and ran down it, pulled a display of electronic devices down behind him to hopefully slow the beast down. He didn't look back to see if it worked. His sudden change of direction had caused the momentum of the speeding Feral to carry it past the aisle as it skidded on the smooth floor, but it swiftly made the progress back up on the fleeing Ghost and leaped easily over the collapsed display without breaking its stride. Vixen had doubled back on himself and ran back down on the next aisle, hoping to throw the creature off his trail. The Feral saw him through a gap in the shelving and lunged through, causing the shelves to collapse. Vixen saw the shelves begin to collapse and quickly climbed the shelves on the other side. As he reached the top, the falling shelves hit the shelves he was balanced on and a domino effect took over. As each row of shelves fell, he leapt from one to the other, eager not to slow his pace. Behind him, the monster was still in pursuit, its hunger for fresh meat keen to be sated. As Vixen sighted the entrance doors, he leapt desperately left, off the shelving, before rolling safely and continuing his charge to the doors in one, fluid movement. The Feral saw his move and returned to the floor in one bound, and it howled with wicked glee as closed in on its prey. Without looking, Vixen fired his M1911 blindly behind him, hoping to at least slow the monster before it could reach him. Yet still he could hear the padded feet behind him getting closer and closer. The doors were within a few feet now and, breathing heavily, he redoubled his efforts to reach it alive. When he was a mere two feet away, he realised that he had turned one aisle short, he was charging straight for the exit.

As Vixen connected with the door, his momentum and weight caused the hinges to buckle backwards and break free of their holdings and all the glass to smash on impact. He collapsed and rolled on the floor, winded, as glass rained around him. His handgun lay several inches away from his hand, just out of reach from this position. Instantly, the Feral was upon him. Its legs clamped down on its shoulders, pinning him to the ground. Its claws bit into his flesh and blood seeped out between its toes. Drool fell in large, stringy blobs from its mouth and Vixen had to shift his head away to avoid any hitting him. It stood triumphant astride him and, howling with delight, raised its clawed hand to slash his throat to ribbons. Then its cries of pleasure turned to tortured screams of inhuman pain as fierce pain lanced through its thigh. In his last seconds before death, Vixen had pulled his knife free from its holdings on his leg and stabbed it directly into the creature's thigh. He felt its grip on him loosen as pain hit it and he desperately reached for his pistol. He felt his hand close around its grips and turned to face the monster, pistol ready. The Feral was still stood atop him and as it recovered from the surprise attack and made to bite out his throat, he unloaded the remainder of the clip into its skull. From the close range and sheer number of bullets that struck its head, it collapsed backwards, over his legs. He yelled as he fired, and he continued to fire long after the mag ran dry. He threw the spent pistol to one side and continued to lie there, face up, breathing heavily. He tried to sit up but the pain from his shoulders kept him down. He heard rapid footsteps approaching. He turned his head to see Ghost Lead, Spitfire and Bandit dashing towards him, weapons raised. Bandit was carrying medical supplies in one hand and he slid to his knees before coming to a calculated stop next to Vixen. Ghost Lead scanned the surrounding area for any infected drawn to the noise while Spitfire thrust his knife into the twitching corpse of the Feral, ensuring its death. Bandit started to question Vixen to make sure he was alright.

"Vixen! You ok, buddy? Where did the bastard get you?"

Vixen could only let out a pained groan as gestured at his shoulders in reply.

"Ok…" said Bandit, "It looks like its claws sunk into the tissue at the shoulders; nothing serious though, just superficial damage. He's got a bunch of cuts and scratches, but by the look of it, they were caused by all this glass. Still, I think we can afford to spare a course of anti-biotics for him, just in case."

"Copy that." Replied Ghost Lead. "Let's get him back to the house and safe first though. No telling how many infected heard all that noise."

Vixen could feel Bandit's hands under his shoulders and his feet dragging against the carpark floor as his vision faded and he slipped into unconsciousness, the adrenaline from his narrow escape now gone.


	2. Chapter 2

Even from a distance, gunfire filled the air around the town. Most of the town was empty with not even an infected in sight. It had become a ghost town. Except for the North-western side of town. There, a large yellow building was riddled with bullet-holes as bullets raked the building. Surrounding the building were several vehicles of different makes, ranging from pickups to muscles cars. Taking cover behind each vehicle were masses of men and women armed with AK47s and Glock 39s, every one of them shooting at the building and its valiant defenders. Shooting from the windows and a tall tower, the five defenders gunned down their attackers in droves, but they were running low on ammunition and were growing tired. From the tower was the powerful shots of an M40 sniper rifle, its rate of fire seeming to be almost rhythmic. It dropped opponents with extremely precise shots to vital points on the body. From one of the windows came the roar of an M249 SAW, bursting enemies to death in a hail of bullets, spraying gore in every direction. The accurate burst fire of a Vector submachine-gun erupted from another window, taking down foes stupid enough to expose themselves away from cover. From another window came the full-auto fire of a lethal Belgian P90, raining hell down on the enemy. And finally, from the open front door that had been almost blasted off its hinges from the sheer volume of gunfire aimed at it came the powerful blasts from a Desert Eagle pistol. The attackers were losing men rapidly and had yet to make any ground towards the house and their morale was beginning to waver, but they were starting to win…

* * *

12 hours earlier…

11 hours to the attack…

Vixen grunted as he sat up, pain shooting through his shoulders as he used his arms to support himself. Looking down, he saw the bandages wrapped tightly around his wounds, but not so tight that it cut off blood flow. He looked around and found himself in Nancy's room. He knew it was Nancy's room because it was the only room with only one bed in. The team slept in one room on bunkbeds, meaning that it definitely was his bed. The walls were grubby with rot and mould with wallpaper so faded he could scarcely tell the original pattern from them. The room was sparsely filled with the bed he lay in, a desk with a chair and Nancy's pink and flowery laptop and a wardrobe for storing clothes. There was another chair in that room and in the chair sat the team's medic and also sadistic maniac, Bandit.

"You're awake." He said, bluntly.

"Yeah, no shit…" Vixen groaned.

"Look, dude. I don't want to do this anymore than you do, but it's something we have to do." Bandit complained, holding up his index finger. "Now follow my finger with your eyes, not your head. You know the drill."

Bandit moved his finger slowly up, then down. Then left, then right. Vixen's eyes followed the finger, bored.

"Everything seems normal…" Bandit stated, picking up a small torch. "Look up." He said. As Vixen's eyes looked upwards, Bandit shined the light into his eyes and examined them. He clicked the torch off and made a small note on a sheet of paper on a clipboard.

"No sign of infection…" he said.

Vixen breathed a sigh of relief. He was ready to make the ultimate sacrifice if he needed to, to protect the team, but it was a relief that he would live to continue the fight.

"Now I got good news and I got bad news." Bandit said, kicking his feet up on the bed and biting a biscuit in half. He tossed the remaining half to Vixen.

"What's the good news?" Vixen asked, catching the biscuit.

"Good news is that while you were out, Ghost Lead and Spitfire went out on another scavenging run and brought back the last piece you needed for your bike." Bandit smiled.

"And the bad news?" Vixen sprayed through a mouthful of crumbs.

"Bad news is that until you're fit and able again, as the team medic, I'm confining you to bed-rest. We can't risk losing the team sniper because you can't run because of your injuries."

"Touching." Vixen smiled sarcastically.

"Not really." Bandit grinned. "You're the one carrying all the flashbangs and I can't be arsed to drag you everywhere."

The two laughed for several moments before the door opened and Nancy walked in. Today she was wearing skinny jeans and a pink tank top, along with a white cap.

"You're awake!" she exclaimed, startled. She dashed over to him and embraced him in a hug. He gritted his teeth through the pain and hugged he back.

"Sorry for getting blood on your sheets." He apologised.

"Don't worry about it…" She mumbled into his chest. "Don't you ever scare me like that again!"

For most of their assignments, Tracker team had never met their handler. Nancy was something similar to a myth to them as they had no way of knowing that she actually existed. That was, at least, until Texas. They were assigned to a counter-terrorism operation in Texas and they were going to be meeting their handler and they would be carrying out the operation without any assistance from the main base. Essentially, they were on their own. When they first met, Vixen and Nancy didn't get along. The rest of the team blamed it on conflicting personalities, but no one knew for sure what made them struggle to get along. But over time, with Vixen saving Nancy's life a few times and Nancy saving Vixen's life a few times, they grew close. They viewed each other as very close friends and working together only forged a stronger bond between them. Then the infection hit and before they knew it, they were knee deep in undead.

* * *

8 hours to the attack…

Vixen was now up and about and able to move around without assistance, albeit with some soreness and discomfort. He sat in the garage, adding the new components to his treasured bike. Nancy was tending to the garden and Ghost Lead was on watch duty in the tower, keeping a vigilant watch for both hordes of infected or armed outlaws. Many outlaw groups were former drug cartels, and so were often well-armed. They posed a significant threat. Down in the courtyard, Spitfire and Bandit had set up a dartboard on the other side of the courtyard and were taking turns throwing their knives at the dartboard. Spitfire hit the dartboard, but his shots were often scattered all across the board. Bandit though often landed all of his throws in the centre or inner rings. After placing another blade in the centre, he smirked as he took another 5-dollar bill from his friend. Money was worth nothing now, but the two often gambled still, just for fun.

Ghost Lead squinted in the distance as he saw dark figures dashing across the carpark of the supermarket across the street. He raised his binoculars to his eyes and saw several men run inside the supermarket, warily watching the corpse of the Feral as they passed it. The noted the flies buzzing around it and the several bullet holes that riddled its body, but still remained cautious. The men wore dark jackets, gloves and balaclavas and carried AK-47s. Ghost Lead knew outlaws when he saw them.

* * *

5 minutes later, Vixen was in position in the tower, M40 sniper rifle ready, and the rest of the team, Nancy included, were stealthily making their way to the supermarket to ambush the outlaws. With the exception of Nancy, they all wore the same clothes as yesterday. Inside, the outlaws were spread out all across the supermarket, picking between the fallen shelving from Vixen's feral encounter, looking for any salvageable loot or supplies they could plunder. The first one was standing just beyond the entrance, facing away from the door. Nancy's hand wrapped around his mouth, preventing him from calling out for help and she pushed her Desert Eagle into the small of his back.

"On the ground." She whispered into his ear. He dropped to his knees before lying face down on the ground with his hands on the back of his head.

She took his AK-47 and pulled the strap over her shoulder so it was strapped to her back. She and Ghost Lead moved down the central aisle while Spitfire took the left aisle and Bandit took the right. They took out another two outlaws silently and non-lethally, leaving only three remaining. One in each aisle. They each picked through a variety of potential supplies but unfortunately, one of the outlaws was careless and dropped an empty tin can in disgust as he saw the gloopy substance of Feral saliva contained within. It rolled down the aisle and as his eyes followed it, he saw Spitfire approaching him from behind, shotgun raised and ready. The outlaw called out in alarm and backed away from Spitfire into the central aisle, AK-47 levelled at the Ghost. The other two outlaws heard his cry of alarm and turned to face their opponents. Eventually, all three of the outlaws stood back to back in the centre aisle, surrounded by the four Ghosts. However, the leader's look of panic and worry transformed into a wicked grin as the three outlaws that the Ghosts had forced to surrender first rose from the ground and surrounded the Ghosts, turning the tables. The outlaw who's AK-47 Nancy had taken pulled a small revolver from a holster concealed within his jacket and used that as a weapon. The Ghosts refused to surrender and kept their weapons levelled at the enemy.

"Now, now…" Ghost Lead said to them all. "No need to be hasty. I'm sure the last thing we all want is a shootout. I don't know about you guys, but I'm not exactly a fan of attracting hordes."

The leader spat out a string of rapid sentences in a language that Ghost Lead could not understand.

"Nancy?" He asked.

Nancy was already in the process of repeated what Ghost Lead had said in Spanish, so the Mexican outlaws could understand. The leader spit out another string of Spanish and Nancy translated it back to Ghost Lead.

"He says he agrees with you, but he says that he will not give up his advantage for that. He says that he is willing to bargain though. He likes the look of our weapons… and me…" She reported with disgust.

"Sorry buddy, not gonna happen." Ghost Lead said to him as Nancy translated.

The leader's grin twisted into a face of rage and anger. He opened his mouth to spit something back, but at that moment, the window on the far side of the supermarket shattered and a single bullet smashed into the side of the skull of the outlaw, knocking him sideways, before continuing on to hit the leader, then the man on the left. The three outlaws slumped dead to the ground, their heads nothing more than an exploded mess of gore as the sniper's bullet took all three of them out.

Ghost Lead, Nancy, Spitfire and Bandit swivelled on the spot and fired at the remaining outlaws behind them. Spitfire's shotgun hit his target dead in the centre of his chest, the small pellets punching tiny holes across his body and driving him to the ground. Spitfire stabbed the man in the brain to ensure he didn't come back to haunt them. Bandit ducked into cover behind one of the few still standing shelves and fired a quick burst towards the outlaw in his aisle, but the outlaw also slid into cover and saved himself from death. Nancy and Ghost Lead both dropped to their knees and fired from the centre of the aisle towards the fleeing outlaw in their aisle. The outlaw ran, toppling even more shelving to cover his escape as he fired his revolver blindly behind him. The shots were spread wildly, but Ghost Lead pulled Nancy behind some cover, just in case a shot got lucky. The outlaw dashed towards a parked green pickup truck, which the outlaws had used to arrive at the supermarket. His surviving ally jumped out of the shattered window and rushed for the truck as well. The man with the pistol leapt into the driver's seat and fumbled with the keys, desperately searching for the correct one before he found it and he turned on the ignition. The engine roared to life as his ally reached the passenger seat door, only to find it locked. The man with the pistol reached across to unlock the door when the crack of a powerful rifle ruptured the air and the man's head exploded, splattering blood all over the passenger window. The man with the pistol shrieked and whimpered with fear, smashing his feet into the pedals, making the pickup truck drive speedily off, screeching its tyres as it went.

The Ghost Team known as Tracker burst out of the supermarket, hot on the tail of the fleeing outlaw as he sped off. They saw him speeding away and quickly gave up their pursuit. Then, the sniper rifle in the tower sounded again and the front left tyre of the truck burst as it was pierced by a bullet from Vixen's M40. The truck lost control and skidded sideways, but the momentum kept it travelling forward, causing the wheels to catch on the road and the truck was launched several feet into the air, spinning sideways as it went, before it hit the ground, continued to roll until it crunched to a painful stop on its side. The fuel tank quickly caught flame, leaving only seconds before the truck would explode and incinerate anything within a small distance in a ferocious inferno. Ghost Team Tracker made their way slowly back to their base of operations as they presumed the entirety of the enemy forces to be dead. They could not see the badly wounded outlaw clamber painfully out from underneath the smashed up pickup truck, bloody flowing freely down the side of his face. He managed to crawl free of the wreckage before the flames made their way to the fuel tank and the truck detonated in a huge fireball. He limped low and quietly back to his gang's hideout, where he wound inform his father of this.

* * *

As Tracker made their way through the gate and into the garden, Vixen had already made his way down from the tower and was moving over to greet them.

"Pack your bags, Vixen. We're leaving." Ghost Lead said as he approached at the head of the team.

"How come?" Vixen asked, confused.

"Infected and outlaws far and wide had to have heard our little shootout and that exploding truck. Inside a day, this place will be crawling with opportunists. We have to get out of here before shit goes down." Ghost Lead explained.

Vixen grudgingly accepted his logic and made his way inside to pack as the others did the same.

* * *

2 hours to the attack…

Ghost Team tracker had been packing for several hours in the darkness of the house that served as their base of operations. They had turned off all the lights and were fearful to make any sound. Outside, they could hear countless infected roaming mindlessly outside. From timid peeks over the feeble wall separating them, they guess that there were several hordes out there, along with several stranglers that usually occupied houses, waiting for unsuspecting looters to stumble blindly into their deaths. The carpark of the supermarket was covered with the slow moving infected, looking for the source of the noise from earlier. In the now empty houses surrounding the area, shadows moved and shifted as outlaws and opportunists of all kinds made their way cautiously around the hordes of infected and watched from the darkness.

Elsewhere, the wounded gunman had made it safely back to his gang's hideout. He informed the gang leader of what had happened. His father was not a happy man.

* * *

45 minutes to the attack…

The packing at the Ghost's base had proceeded swiftly and they were nearly done. Most of their time spent packing was securing intel and dossiers that contained vital information and could prove the existence of the mysterious Ghosts if it was discovered. Such intelligence had to be handled with extreme care and caution. They were packing their final things when the gunfire started. One of the houses suddenly erupted in gunfire as a few mindless infected stumbled into a house that happened to contain outlaw scouts. One of the scouts was caught by surprise by the entering infected and panicked. He fired his weapon on full-auto, killing the infected, but drawing the attention of all the infected in the area. The horde swarmed the house and the sounds of gunfire increased as every man in the scout team opened fire on the approaching mega-horde, but before long, the roar of gunfire was slowly replaced with the screams of pain as they were torn limb from limb, their remains being hungrily gnawed on by the ravenous infected. Nancy shielded her ears from the screams, not daring to look over the wall at the carnage on the other side. Others hidden in the houses did the same. Nancy was no stranger to pain and death, but the infected dealt in death in such a brutal and careless manner that she found no comfort from the screams. Those who fell victim to them could expect to find no mercy in their piercing red eyes. Within five minutes, the screams stopped, and the town was quiet again.

* * *

15 minutes to the attack…

An explosion rocked the town as two detonations hit the base of the water tower, overlooking the town from a cliff above. The legs of the tower crumpled as they were destroyed at the base and the tower came crashing down into the town below. Brown water flooded down the streets, but it only caused minimal damage. However, the noise drew the attention of the infected, and slowly they lumbered towards the cliff-face. Within only 15 minutes, the area was clear of zombies. Then the roar of approaching cars and bikes rumbled towards the house from all directions. On the body of each vehicle was the symbol of a skull set ablaze. The 'Burning Revenge' gang. The gang was formally a major player in organised crime. They did everything from gun smuggling, drug dealing and racketeering, all the way down to prostitution. But what they were most renowned for was their arson attacks. Known for setting entire buildings ablaze simply to send a message to another family, or sometimes just one man. They were heartless killers and if you crossed them, you rarely lived long enough to regret it. And the Ghosts had almost killed the gang boss' only son. They were in for a hell of a fight.

* * *

And so it led to this. With every gang member the Ghost team gunned down, another vehicle came screeching to a halt right outside their base, filled with more gunmen. The infected, bored of the fallen water tower now, were drawn to the noise of battle and they had returned to the supermarket car park, only to be gunned down in droves by the gang members. The Ghosts were elite veteran warriors, but even with all their skill, they knew this was a losing battle. They knew that the only way they would live to fight another day would be to retreat. Escape to come back stronger. If they stayed here, they would die. Falling back was the only option…


End file.
